


Steve X Reader - Tragic Tragedies

by Fridge_Full_Of_Apple_Juice



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt, Trigger Warnings, XReader, sorry - Freeform, steve is humble as hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fridge_Full_Of_Apple_Juice/pseuds/Fridge_Full_Of_Apple_Juice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not every guy is as humble and kind as Steve... Trust (Y/N), she should know.</p><p>It's not just her hand that locks up under the pressure of the trigger, her heart joins it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Windier Than It Should Be

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this story triggers something in someone, I understand how serious things like this can be.

It was three in the morning, not quite light out and not quite dark. But there she lay, half awake and fully clothed, her bed still made and her light still on. She couldn't believe the luck she was having, her world was turning from solid to liquid.

All the years she had known Steve had made her expect the best from men. She had expected Michael to be no different. But alas, he was.

She could still feel the stinging of her jaw and the blood on her hands. Her nails and fingers chipped and bent from self-defence. Blood that had somehow managed to seep from all over her body now stuck to her clothes and her bed. Her nose and head felt heavy when she attempted to look out of the window.

Still late, still early.

What had started out as a pleasant night soon turned into an awkward situation. Dinner was at least quiet, the conversation non-existent. But when she refused to dance, claiming he was not the right partner, mimicking Steve. He just scowled and stormed away from the music.

When she caught up, the night went down an unexpected turn. Luckily she had managed to escape, just. The woman had no time to even check how brutal and blue she looked. As Steve would say, "a dame should always look her best".

So she just fell back onto the bed, staring at the blurred outlines of what should have been a light. As she faded into the nothingness of pain, knocks sounded at her door. Unable to make a sound leave the swells of her lips, the door went unanswered.

"(L/N)?! C'mon, we know you're in there!" Bucky's voice sounded so far away, abandoned by her sense of sound. She managed a small grunt in response.

"Open it up! We heard you had some trouble tonight," Steve's voice drifted through the wood, almost piercing the cloud that held her. The voice made (Y/N) turn her head, a low groan of pain echoing through the small room.

Bringing a hand up as far as she could, trying to push herself forward off of the bed. A sitting position the best she could do.

"Go... Away." The sentence became lost behind fat lips. Her head fell back onto the wall, making something rattle on the other side of the room.

"Open up!"

Her eyes closed, closer to sleep than before. Never had she felt so drained, adrenaline was her friend when she was stumbling home an hour before, now her friend had left her.

All was quiet for a moment, she had almost thought the boys had gone home, almost. The thought was shot down as her door caved in, ripped off of its hinges by Bucky himself. Steve was first through the door, his small frame emerging from the blackness outside.

He was by her side before Bucky too, running faster than ever. “(Y/N)? Oh god, are-are you alright?”

She gave a pained laugh, ribs jarring and eyes half open. “Sure,” Is all she could manage before she flinched, her sore lips splitting when she opened her mouth.

Bucky bent over inspecting her face before sighing. “Michael is a dead man. I told you he was shifty.”

She groaned loudly, she would never admit Bucky was right, she still had her pride… After her dignity, as well as the rest of her, took a beating, it was all she could manage to keep.

“We can do something about it later, last I checked he isn’t leaving, right now (Y/N) is more important than some lousy jerk.”

(Y/N) attempted to smile, Steve, what a guy. What he lacked in size he made up for in heart. His heart was almost bigger than the whole of America, hell, bigger than the war itself.

Bucky picked up one of her hands, smiling sadly at the sight. “This gal can put up a fight.”

“This gal… Will hit you… If you call her that again.”

The sentence was not worth all of the pain it caused, but the smile on Steve’s face made it a little better.

“I think we might need to take her to see someone,” Steve says, “Even if she can put up a fight, Buck.”

(Y/N) flinches, she hated being examined and told what was wrong with her. Lab rats and the like made her sick to her stomach, especially those that would let themselves be subjected to examination. 

“Good idea, her hands are bad enough without looking at the rest of her.”

She lets out a grunt of protest. Steve smiles and sits down next to her. “Don’t worry, you’re still the prettiest dame to me.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone dancing with Steve instead.”

She tries her best to shrug. “Maybe… Next time.”

Leaning her head back she grunts, the coolness of the wall the only steady thing in the room. Everything swam, making her shut her eyes.

\---

That was the last night she had heard Steve’s voice, the next time she opened her eyes, Bucky and Steve were gone, killed in action. Her tears never really stopped, not even when the men came. They wore black, marked red with the blood of the doctors and nurses.

They had spoken little English, only motioning towards the door, guns aimed at her head and cuffs tying her hands at her back.

She knew them now as Hydra, she knew what they did, and she did what she was told. Killing innocents was only a little hiccup in her morality. Bucky kept her on track, he never knew who she was, his mind too wiped to understand or connect the dots, but his voice left her feeling nostalgic some days.

Hydra hated that, they never could get her to touch a gun. A hand had never fully healed, it clicked and jammed up under the firearm. So, up close and personal was a choice made for (Y/N). Trained with knives and throwing explosives.

She never went longer than a week without some sort of injury. They could heal her fast enough, and if not, they sent her out anyway.

That’s what had happened when she heard the voice again. Not even a mask could hide her pain and tears.


	2. Some Days Just Can’t Be Good, Even For Bad Guys That Hate Their Job.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Attacking had to be thought out, it often took hours for the bigshots upstairs to decide her path. She was just like the birds and the snakes, a device to be used, strap a piece of machinery to it and it’ll be a surveillance device, give it leverage to slither and it’ll become one of the greatest torture tools known to Hydra."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This stories a little more... Like me. Darker, it's what I'm used to. Sorry for the kind of... Darkness.

Thirty people screaming at once, all of them merging together to create one big screech. Men, women, and children… All of them. It didn’t faze her or the troops, she continued on ordering them to tie them up.

They all held guns high, proudly wearing the uniform given to them. She felt sick when she caught her own reflection. Once a proud young woman stared back at her, now a hardened soldier scowled and smashed at the glass.

How she hated her eyes.

There was nothing behind them, an emptiness she knew all too well. A corruption that spread to the rest of her features, pale in comparison to everyone else, to who she used to be.

“You have your orders,” glaring at the men in front of her. “Keep them alive until they come, then open fire. Flinch wants them to watch.”

They give a nod and a “hail Hydra” like the good soldiers they are before turning, guns again raised towards the captives.

The screaming captives…

“And for god’s sake! Shut them up, I need to concentrate.”

The gunshot that followed shut them up easy enough, no one was harmed, unless the wooden beams above their heads counted as a human.

Silence save for a few whimpers and children’s sniffles.

Now was the important part, (Y/N) was to climb to the roof and scout as well as shut the power down. Darkness was their friend, Bucky worked best when looking through night vision. She could throw knives fairly well, she’d more than likely hit her target, if not the grenade would finish the job.

“We’ll stand guard, ma’am,” a cocky soldier states. “Go forward.”

A curt nod is exchanged before she starts up the stairs. She was nervous, Hydra was losing interest in her and they were losing it fast. She hadn’t killed anyone for a month.

True she was finding ways out of it, but she got the job done, Hydra just like their graffiti on a backdrop of red.

The stairs didn’t even draw a pant out of her as she neared the top, years and years of training and field work hardened her. Killed her spirits and childish tendencies along with it.

The door neared her view and she reared her leg back, kicking it open with enough force it toppled off of its hinges. It fell with a satisfying bang, light streaming into the stairwell. Now all she had to do was scout until they came, then it was down to cut the power.

The sun was out, a lovely day in store. It was the first time she had a chance to feel the sun on her skin, the first chance in a long time to look at the clouds. She stayed watchful, watching her peripheral as she counted the shapes in the fluffy whiteness.

One duck, at least three resembling sheep… One even looked like a rather deformed snake.

She lets out a huff of her breath, a sighing laugh punching the air from her lungs. She almost remembered a time when snakes brought her fear, when they made her palms sweat and knees ache.

The only thing that made her palms sweat was when her hand locked up. It would make her panic each time, not sure if it would move again. Snakes were her friends, they could bring screams out of the bravest men.

Sometimes they were poisoned, sometimes they were used as torture devices, much like her. They used birds to carry cameras, it was easy enough to spy on shield, and it was harder to attack.

Attacking had to be thought out, it often took hours for the bigshots upstairs to decide her path. She was just like the birds and the snakes, a device to be used, strap a piece of machinery to it and it’ll be a surveillance device, give it leverage to slither and it’ll become one of the greatest torture tools known to Hydra.

So there she stood, the Snake-Bird, staring past the sun, listening to the faint screams downstairs, the occasional yell from the men.

Hydra knew she was harder to control, yet they kept her all this time. Bucky was obviously the better choice, he was a soldier, someone without a choice. They still found ways to… Persuade her.

Apparently slaughtered children were her weakness.   

If she complied, the children were let go. Given they were scared and beat up, but they lived. After every mission she went back to her cell-like room and marked off another tally. Each one representing a soul crushing mission, each one meant a crowd of people never going home to their families, they went to the morgue in a body bag.

It wasn’t always in one piece.

Crashes brought her out of her cloud gazing, her head snapped towards a row of buildings, each one with a dent in the side, the closest having a giant green man clinging to the metal framework he had exposed.

Without a thought, she looked at him in the eyes as best she could, and she nodded before taking her leave down the stairs. She was headed towards the main room, shouting into her radio for _“Someone to cut the damn power”_.

Within a heartbeat, there was darkness, the only light came from upstairs, the narrow doorway giving no help to any fight that would take place. So she flicked the goggles down from the top of her head and flicked a switch.

She could see again. Green tinged everything, how she would see the hulk in all of this chaos was lost to her, she’d leave that to Buck. After all, he was the trained soldier.

_“Impact in thirty seconds, brace for debris.”_

The voice in the radio fizzled out as they released the button, she was as ready as she’d ever be. She already had a knife in her right hand and a grenade in her left.

If there were casualties she would never forgive herself, which there would be… So why did she feel the need to pray for none before every battle?

Thirty seconds had passed, and nothing, complete silence.

(Y/N) fiddled with her radio for a second, trying to find the blasted button in the sea of green. “I thought you said thirty seconds, confirm again.”

Silence.

Well, crap… She knew that meant she was screwed.

_“In the baseme- Caught off guard- backu-“_

Static.

She took off at a run, dodging overturned chairs as she growled out orders to the first two men she saw. “Basement now, only two, we need the others here. Open fire on non-friendlies.”

A nod from both.

The darkness was their only friend and they needed to relocate to keep the advantage, soldiers knew where to go, third floor. And they were already putting it to action.

That was, before she was thrown backwards, light streaming into her night vision, blinding her.

Some days just can’t be good, even for bad guys that hate their job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes that can be brought to my attention would be lovely! Thanks.


	3. Aftermath, Left Behind.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Another explosion shook the government building, throwing whoever was unlucky enough to pin her down away. (Y/N) took the advantage, she swung her knife.
> 
> It stuck well, the blade digging into the flesh of the calf she could see, blue mixing with red, the whiteness of his skin sticking out from torn fabric.
> 
> How fitting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in like, half an hour... Please don't hate it too much!

Blindness was one thing, (Y/N) understood what it meant to be blind, how to deal with it. It was just that simple, heightened senses, follow what she could hear. But someone holding her down whilst they pressed something to her throat _and_ she was injured?

Well, she hadn’t really had this happen before.

She tried her best to get out of it, she kicked, punched, hell; even connected with something fleshy… But they refused to move.

They just wouldn’t **_Budge_**.

Slowly, images began to fade back in, she could see flashes of furniture, debris, something that looked like a leg in the corner… She couldn’t stop to think too hard, she needed all of the strength in her thrashing limbs, trying not to pass out from the more-than-likely-deadly pain in her side.

She felt horrid knowing that this was her fault, she had denied the offer to consult on the planning, and she could have found an easier route, something that would have saved lives, all the while keeping them happy.

“Put the weapon down!”

It was a gentle voice, calming despite the circumstances. She brought her fist up again, gripping tightly at the hand in her view…

_White… Male, American obviously… Was that a blue suit? Not one of hers… **SHEILD**._

Another explosion shook the government building, throwing whoever was unlucky enough to pin her down away. (Y/N) took the advantage, she swung her knife.

It stuck well, the blade digging into the flesh of the calf she could see, blue mixing with red, the whiteness of his skin sticking out from torn fabric.

How fitting.

Explosion.

She could feel her side ripping open again, she could feel every nerve screaming, but she took the pain. She didn’t want to; but this kill meant everything, it meant survival, both immediate and prolonged.

Shake.

Before she could bring down the knife a third time she heard it, in the darkness and light, a scream, a name.

_“Steve!”_

Screams.

One hit is all it took to take her down, her weakened self knew it… But the voice never came closer. It stayed away, obviously they were in panic, so why could (Y/N) hear the echo… Why weren’t they getting the comrade they so desperately wanted to get to?

Her eyes dragged themselves, tired and unfocused, all the way to her feet. Fire, walls, beams; things stood in the way, she could see the red-haired woman fighting to get through, only to give more oxygen to the already roaring blaze.

(Y/N) pulled herself up, a cry escaping her lips, she watched the woman’s head raise at that, realisation of another presence.

She became the fire.

She roared and crackled, shone and glowed… She burnt away the barrier.

_“Evacuate the- SHIELD knew we were-.. Meet as scheduled, no variations, code 396; (L/N) missing..”_

As the sentence started, hope filled her, as it ended she wasn’t sure which fire would catch her first.

Both were terrifying. But they weren’t as close as the loss of her life from the injury, or the grunting man.

They had left her, she was already gone, _they_ were already gone!

THEY HAD LEFT HER.

After all she had done, after all she hadn’t done, she wondered what had made her so unimportant that they stranded her.

Left her to burn…

Angry she slips off her mask, oblivious to the prying eyes behind her, the one’s that belonged to the shield raised and ready to strike. The one’s that belonged to the hesitating hand, the widening eyes.

The realisation.

She packed the fabric to her side, letting out a swear as a flame licked at her hand. They were dying here, both of them, maybe all three.

But she could do something… Something to help the unknown pair, to help complete strangers on the opposite team.

If she was going to die, she would die defying those she hated, defying those who had defiled her body with scars and burns and promises. She would save those sent to kill her, she would rebel with a breath that stoked a fire, ready to burn through Hydra and the people who had ordered her.

She pulled out an explosive, small, not too powerful, but it would clear the way… And without looking held it out to him… A plea of sorts as she kicked at the wood.

“Make sure it’s close enough to kill me, huh? No need to let me suffer.”

Silence ticked past, even the Woman-Fire stayed silent and watched the exchange. Her weapon was raised, ready to shoot. (Y/N) reassured her with a smile, dragging herself further away from the man.

“I-I can’t do that.” His voice cracked as he picked up her plea. Turning it in his hands.

“Then let the fancy one shoot me.”

A hand gripped a shoulder, dragging her backwards away from the approaching flames, the Fire-Woman, confused, attempted to follow as best she could.

“Can’t do that either, Ma’am.”

God, Americans, they were either trying to kill her or save her, and today, this man had tried both… That took a different kind of stupid.

(Y/N) laughed angrily as pain shot through her. “Saving me damns you, same as it does me. So just blow the thing up already and add another _Jane Doe_ to the list.”

Her speech had become slurred, the tiredness she had fought off becoming all too close. She knew she was screwed.

“You’re not a _Jane Doe,_ Trust me,” He says bringing his body around.

She could see it, she knew she was dying, he was there… Of course he was. **_Steven Grant Rogers._**

He was a big boy now, she would hardly be half his width, and his shoulders covered most of her view. Apparently no bastard could stay dead in this hell.

“You might want to brace yourself.”

Flames.

Smoke.

Crash.

A yell.

Names… Names? Whose name?

Who would call out a name as stupid as that… _“Natasha!”_

Did the bastard even throw it? She couldn’t tell, leave it to a man to be either too early… Or too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, I'm too tired. I write these at stupid hours, with my stupid hands frozen... 
> 
> 5 degrees Celsius in my room... That's 41 degrees Fahrenheit for anyone else... But damn, my hands are colder than my soul...  
> I can see my breath. DUDE.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry again, I may do another chapter, not sure yet :)


End file.
